


Of Breeds of Angel

by timeheist



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2013-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-27 19:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeheist/pseuds/timeheist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam both turned to stare at the natural angel. Castiel blinked. All three men practically scrambled over the hood of the car in their haste to get away.</p><p>“Shut up and drive, Dean!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Breeds of Angel

Through life, war and domination, Castiel had been pretty sure he knew all of the angels by sight. He certainly knew all the dead ones, some intimately; their faces and names were inscribed into his memory. He knew all the ones who had fallen under the Winchester banner as well but, well, that was only to be expected. He owed them that much. And so, coming face to face with grotesque stone effigies of his brothers and sisters that seemed, whenever his gaze strayed, to have some sentient spirit inside and be angels in their own right was confusing and, he had to admit, more than a little distressing.

They weren’t angels, so what were they? Who were they modeled off? They almost, but not quite, resembled the usual human representations of angels. They had the cherubim hair, curly, which was surprisingly accurate, and wings that, though small, were more or less of the right dimensions. But they also had jaws that reminded Castiel more of the leviathans than any angel he’d ever seen; mouths dislocated, teeth sharp and irregular as broken glass, muzzles that seemed to take form from their sunken faces… And whatever these winged mockeries were, he was almost certain that they were getting closer.

They didn’t seem to move if he tried to watch them but the evidence was otherwise undeniable. Tree branches bent out of the way of them, ground and bark dislodged and trampled. Their hungry-looking visages a little closer, and a little more sharply in detail than before. Castiel could see cracks in the stone, and angel behind the unmoving eyes, that set his feathers on end. Perhaps there was some truth to the wisdoms that Bobby had spoken of drying paint and watched kettles (punctuated, of course, by ‘you idjits’). He would keep that in mind; Bobby had usually known what he was talking about.

He kept in mind, too, that wherever it was the creatures’ slow and staggered pace was taking them and whatever they were, they were moving in his direction, and in his direction also happened to be the Impala and the sleeping Winchester brothers. This was both a strategic advantage and a disadvantage; perhaps if he went to the brothers now, instantly, some diary or book in the trunk of their heavily armed car would have all the answers. What the insulting things were, and what their weaknesses might be. But on the other hand with nobody to watch them, would their reluctance to move dissipate and would they rush him with teeth and claws and death so that he couldn’t warn Sam and Dean that they were coming? What if he simply doomed them by fleeing? He couldn’t put them in danger again.

He had turned his head in thought for too long, almost forgetting himself, and when Castiel turned to face the edge of the forest once more it was to see a dozen of the stone angels in front of him. Damn him for going for a walk while the humans slept. Some of the creatures were only a handful of metres away now; their maws of sharp teeth seemed exaggerated at close range, vicious claws extended in his direction, and their wings were outstretched and curled with malice for he didn’t know what. He didn’t know if he wanted to know what. The ones in the distance still stood still, though, almost peaceful. Their heads were bowed and their wings folded, as though in some charade of prayer. They covered their faces with their hands. Was it a guard position? And was it just an illusion, or did they appear to be… Weeping?

Castiel blinked with curiousity, and nearly yelped with alarm when the swarm moved forward, metres in less than a second, their macabre poses changed. Whatever these creatures were they were not to be trusted and they should probably be destroyed. They weren’t something made from God’s hand, he was sure. Castiel no longer held any illusions that perhaps they wanted to talk, or make deals, or that they needed help. He couldn’t be lenient towards them or show any preferential behaviour just because they reminded him of home, of cruel mutations of loved ones lost.

He became the soldier once more. The beings were reluctant to move when spied, or perhaps incapable of it… Curious, though he had fought strangers beasts, monsters and daemons since he had first met Dean in hell. Were these daemons? Possessed by daemons? He shuddered to think that they might be some depraved hybrid of angel and… what? At least now he had an idea how to hold them at bay while he got help but even he couldn’t watch them non-stop. This vessel, Jimmy Niovak’s body, needed to blink to moisten his eyes, to clear away dust and dirt and infection. The human form was so fragile and did not lend itself to fighting any sort of fantasy creature, least of all this one. It was a movement of reflex, unavoidable. He knew his limits. The more he forced himself to keep his eyes open the harder it would be and the more he would have to blink, and in turn, the closer they would get and the more danger everyone would be in.

Move fast, then.

Castiel moved backwards, as swiftly as he dared, hoping to navigate the empty parking lot by memory alone. There was a run-down 7/11 and a block of public toilets on his left, and the Impala was parked on his right, closer to the road. He just had to walk it backwards. His gaze never left the faces of the stone angels as he broke into a jog, except to blink as little as possible. When he did, the angels lurched forward as if possessed, faces distorted in screams and snarls and dislocated limbs reaching greedily out for him. Leering, promising that soon enough, he would blink for too long, at the wrong moment. He tried to blink less, despite himself, stumbling over rocks and silently cursing – Dean was rubbing off on him – shouting out as a hand nearly touched his, and his foot finally bumped into the familiar tread of a rubber tire behind him.

Car doors slammed open behind him and he could have sighed with relief as a pair of guns clicked loudly and a familiar, fond voice growled: “What the hell is going on, Cas?!”

“Don’t blink Dean.” Instead of laughing with joy Castiel simply grimaced, his tone calm and his heartbeat less erratic once more. He groped blindly for the handle to the back door of the car, addressing Dean without facing him. He saw Sam walk in front of him out of the corner of his eyes and jerked his head to keep the now stone statues in his line of sight before anyone did anything… Drastic. He nudged Dean’s elbow. “They don’t move if you watch them.”

“They’re statues, Cas, what the f-“

Dean and Sam both turned to stare at the natural angel. Castiel blinked. All three men practically scrambled over the hood of the car in their haste to get away.

“Shut up and drive, Dean!”


End file.
